


It Takes a Year (Sakusa x GN!Reader)

by lightninglibero



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, No warnings here fam just enjoy your favorite shy awkward germophobe, the fluffiest of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninglibero/pseuds/lightninglibero
Summary: It takes time to form a relationship with someone as guarded as Sakusa. Luckily for you, time is something you both have plenty of.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 230





	It Takes a Year (Sakusa x GN!Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr! (@lightninglibero) This was a request, so I wrote it before I realized the Black Jackals don't have a manager in the same sense as a high school team. Whoops.

It takes a week before he finally says hello to you.

You only accepted the temporary position of ‘assistant team manager’ for the Black Jackals as a favor to your friend, who’d been a bit stressed out as of late. Not that you could blame her for that – being the manager for a V-League team didn’t exactly sound like the easiest job in the world. In an effort to help her relax, you took on as many of her duties as possible, passing out water bottles and towels as needed.

The first thing you noticed was how friendly everyone on the team was – especially the loud and irrepressible Bokuto and the enthusiastic Hinata, who had also been the most vocal about greeting you when you’d walked onto the court with your friend on your first day on the job.

Maybe it was how outgoing his teammates were compared to him that drew your attention to the curly black-haired boy standing off to the side and trying very hard to escape your notice.

Atsumu, the team’s setter, noticed you staring. “Oh, that’s Sakusa,” he said, turning to wave his teammate over. “Hey, man, get over here and say hello already!”

But he didn’t. He didn’t say hello to you that day, or the day after that. And it wasn’t until six days later when you both arrived at the court at the same time that he finally responds to the greeting you’ve been giving him every single day.

“Hello,” he says quietly, glancing away and tugging at the corner of the mask he’s wearing. You smile and can’t help but feel like you’ve won a small victory in a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

*

It takes a month before you manage to have a conversation with him.

You were sitting on the bleachers, watching your friend as she animatedly chats with the team, reading them the notes she gathered on who their opponents would be for their next game. You’re happy to help pass out towels and water bottles as usual, but the technical aspects of the sport fly completely over your head, so you’ve decided to sit on the sidelines and leave things to your friend for a while.

While everyone else discusses tactics, you pull out a book and start reading. The entire time, you swear you can feel someone watching you. Finally you whip your head around, only to meet the gaze of the very same person who has been acting so quiet around you for so long. He glances away quickly, tugging his mask a bit further up his nose.

You wrack your brain for a conversation starter to ease the suddenly awkward atmosphere. “Oh… hi, Sakusa,” you say, smiling gently, pointing your thumb at his chattering teammates. “Aren’t you going to join in on the team meeting?”

He shakes his head without looking at you. “Atsumu went over everything with me this morning.”

“Oh.” You fiddle with your fingers a bit. It isn’t until you catch him glancing at your book that you think of a way to keep him talking. “Do you like to read?”

He looks up at you. Back down to your book. Then he meets your eyes again and shrugs. “Sometimes.”

And that’s how it starts. You bring up a few titles you’ve read recently and watch to gauge his reaction, asking him about the books he’s read in return. It’s slow going at first, but eventually he starts opening up a bit more, responding to your questions with more than simple one-word answers. A few minutes later, you realize that the rest of the team has stopped chattering.

You turn your head towards them. All of them are staring at you.

“How’d you do that?” Atsumu asks with a bewildered look on his face.

“Uh… what do you mean?” You feel self-conscious all of a sudden, though you have no idea why.

The team’s setter points at Sakusa. “He doesn’t even talk to us that much!” he declares, fixing his teammate with a semi-offended stare. “What gives, man? Are we really that boring?”

Sakusa shrugs again, staring off into space. “Sometimes,” he says. You can’t see if he’s smiling beneath his mask, but you swear you catch the corners of his eyes crinkle upwards a bit.

*

It takes six months before he holds your hand.

Now that the ice between you is finally broken, you find yourself enjoying Sakusa’s company more and more. It’s not as if you always seek each other out – you just happen to continue arriving at the gym and leaving at the same time – but even the short time alone together during your walk to the bus stop is enough for you to squeeze in more conversations with him. You talk about an eclectic mix of subjects, from books to recent games you’ve played to your plans after college. True, you don’t seem to have much in common, but his quiet, unhurried demeanor makes you feel comfortable talking to him about just about anything.

And he seems to feel this way, too, because he no longer gives you one-word answers to anything. By now you’re pretty sure that you can safely call yourself his friend, and you mention this to him as you leave the gym one evening.

He blinks. “What?”

“I said we’re friends, right?”

It takes him a moment to answer. He clears his throat. Scratches at his chin beneath his mask. But there’s no doubt in his voice when he finally speaks up.

“Yeah,” he replies. “We’re… friends.”

Something makes your heart leap upon hearing those words. You notice he’s slowly removed his hand from his pocket, allowing it to hang at his side. Not wanting to read too much into anything, you make no move to take it – but you can’t seem to stop glancing at it, either. Only when you can’t stand the tension in the air anymore do you finally react, hesitantly reaching out to brush his hand with your own.

He flinches and pulls his hand back as if you’d electrocuted him.

Your heart sinks. “S-sorry,” you mumble, staring at the ground.

“…Here.”

He’s handing you something. You have to look closer to see what it is – a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. At first you have no idea what he’s trying to say, if anything. Then it hits you. You chuckle as you take the bottle and rub a few drops of sanitizer on your hands.

“Can I hold your hand now?” you ask teasingly.

He mumbles something as he scratches the back of his neck.

“What?”

He hesitates, extending his hand a few inches towards yours. “I said okay.”

So you take his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. At first you wonder if you’ve made a mistake – he’s so tense now you swear he’s about to explode with how much his hand is shaking – but then, a few yards down the sidewalk, he squeezes your hand back.

*

It takes a year before he kisses you.

All your daily conversations, however small, have added up into something more. Everything you do seems to intrigue him in some way, be it the way you laugh or the things you’re passionate about, he’s familiar with it all. You know each other so well by now, and although you’re not officially dating, it feels like you should be. It doesn’t help that his teammates keep casting suggestive glances at the two of you, whenever they catch you standing next to each other, as if they know something you don’t.

You walk to the bus together that evening as always, but this time, something feels different. He doesn’t respond as much to your comments, only offering one word responses when you ask him questions, the way he did when you’d first met. He’s always been somewhat quiet, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong.

“Kiyoomi,” you say, giving him a curious, somewhat worried look, “is everything all right?”

He jumps, as if startled, or as if he didn’t realize you’ve been standing there this whole time. Like he’s been talking to a ghost. “I’m fine,” he says, but you don’t miss the glance he throws over his shoulder. Is he afraid you’re being followed? “But… I was thinking we could take a different way home today. It’s more… scenic.”

You raise an eyebrow. Scenic views are not something he’s ever expressed particular interest in during the entire time you’ve known him. But something is definitely up, and you’re determined to find out what, “Sure,” you agree without thinking, and he points the way down a different path than the one you usually take.

It soon becomes clear that you’re not headed for the bus stop. Along this road, there are more trees, more flowers popping up between cracks in the sidewalk. He takes your hand – a somewhat rare occurrence, despite the fact that he’s gotten used to it by now – and pulls you off the path, towards a river lazily flowing back towards town. You know this river – the bus passes over it via bridge all the time. But you’ve never seen it up close before.

Once you’re standing at the riverbank, he clears his throat, scratching his chin beneath his mask. At this point in your friendship, you recognize it as a sign of nervousness. “Kiyoomi, what’s all this about?”

He lowers his hand. He still hasn’t let go of yours, though, you suddenly realize.

“It’s just,” he begins, his voice somewhat quieter than usual, “We’ve been friends for a while now. Right?”

You watch him carefully, as if trying to decode his words to figure out what he’s actually trying to say. “Yes.”

“And we’ll always be friends, hopefully,” he continues. “But what if… that changed?”

Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach. That’s what this was about?

“You… don’t want to be friends anymore?”

His eyes widen. “No! That’s not what I meant. I just… was thinking…”

You smile softly. “Clearly.”

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine, but I may as well ask…”

His hand feels very warm now. He’s sweating, too. But he doesn’t seem too concerned about that at the moment.

After a long pause, you decide to prompt him again. “Sakusa, what—"

“Willyougooutwithme?” he blurt it all out as a single word.

You blink. Blink again. “…What?”

He scratches his chin. “Um,” he mumbles so you can barely hear it, “Will you… go out sometime… with me? Unless you’re not interested, in which case, never mind.” He scratches his chin even harder, sweat running down the side of his face. “Actually, maybe we should forget I said anything. Yeah… that seems like it’d be best.”

He moves to let go of your hand, already walking away, but you hold on to him even tighter.

“Wait!”

Slowly, he turns his head to look at you over his shoulder. “Um…” he gulps. “What?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to go out with you?”

He stares at you for a second before glancing away. “I don’t know.” His brow furrows. “I don’t know what I’m doing, for one thing.”

You step closer to him. Taking hold of his shoulder, you turn him around so he’s facing you again.

You smile. “Me, neither.”

“But,” he says, eyes darting around, “that would mean we’re not just friends anymore.”

“I know.”

“And you’re… all right with that?”

“I’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me out for a really long time, Sakusa.”

Something flashes in his eyes. It looks an awful lot like relief.

And then, you hear him do something he rarely ever does – he laughs. It’s not loud, and it’s easy to miss if you’re not listening for it. But it’s there.

“Well,” he says after a pause, the faintest of blushes on his face, “that’s good. Because there’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time, too.”

He pulls down his mask and lowers his face to yours. He pauses halfway, as if waiting for you to pull away – but you don’t. You just stand there smiling at him, wearing a faint blush of your own.

And maybe in the end, it’s that small gesture that gives him courage, because that’s when he leans down and kisses you.

It only lasts a couple seconds. He pulls away with a sharp intake of breath, breathing heavily. From how pale he looks, it’s clear that he’s quite shocked by his own actions.

You laugh, still holding his hand in yours. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” you ask with a teasing glint in your eye.

He hesitates, thinking something over. Then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says quietly. He’s looking away again, but now the blush on his face is almost scarlet. “But… you can forget it ever happened. If you want.”

You shake your head, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“…What?”

“Let’s just go on that date you promised me.”

He looks back at you, still blushing, and chuckles under his breath.

“Okay,” he says.

The whole way back to the bus stop, he doesn’t let go of your hand. It’s not shaking anymore, and it never does again.


End file.
